Mystchief
by Jocelyn Hillcrest
Summary: A partnership begins that could be disastrous for all that Marvel have ever called 'hero'


Her eyes snapped open at the sound of boots hitting the cold stone floor. She gripped the beam she hung from tighter, pulling her body just a few more inches away from the earth. The bootsteps grew closer, accompanied by a strange swishing sound that she knew all too well. _A cape. He's followed me._ Mystique ground her teeth together in frustration. She had thought that this was the one place Magneto had left to her. _Well, he'll have to find me here first._ She changed from her rather visible, natural blue skin to that of an African woman she had met once. Her pigmentation almost perfectly matched the old wooden beams that held up the roof of the old church. _And now,_ she took a deep breath, _we wait._

The steps echoed through the old building like spirits, coming to greet her from every corridor and crevice. A message of warning. But as the noise of steps and capes grew to a crescendo, she couldn't help but notice that there was a strange _lack_ of familiarity to the sounds.

The echoing seemed to vanish as a figure entered the sanctuary from a side-corridor. Mystique recolored her eyes so not to give herself away, and examined the intruder who was certainly _not_ the man she adored and hated. Instead, she saw a man that seemed to have stepped out of a particularly imaginative work of fantasy. Bronze and green armor adorned him and his cape bellowed out behind, almost unnaturally. He strode into the room with a rapid, angry pace and only stopped when he tripped over an old, rotted pew and got tangled up in his formerly impressive cape. From the ground he now lay on, Mystique could hear a tapestry of, what she assumed to be, cursing being woven in what was either another language or a strange perception of what is considered fowl. She thought she heard him hissing out something about hammers and decided that he was absolutely nuts.

But crazy didn't mean he wasn't a threat. In fact, it could make him more dangerous.

A bat flew by Mystique's head and she was able to ignore it, but the squeaking drew the attention of the strange man below . He looked up as if afraid something would come through the ceiling to destroy him and Mystique held her breath. The man's gaze searched for the source of the sound, travelling right over Mystique's body without the slightest hesitation. If she had been more vain-and this were her natural form, she may have been offended that he paid her naked body no regard.

Seemingly satisfied that is was indeed, just a bat that had startled him, the man got back to his feet. He yanked off the cape and sat down with a heavy sigh on a creaking pew. There was near-silence for a few, long minutes as they both stayed still. The only movements were the gentle rise and fall of their respective chests and the wind through the crumbling halls of the church. Mystique flexed her cramping fingers and winced at the wood's groaning protest.

Suddenly the man began shouting, "How does anyone expect me to act?! God of tricksters and thieves indeed! My past is a lie made up by cowards and my future is one of constant defeat and humiliation!" He slammed a fist down on the pew beside him and the wood cracked and splintered beneath the blow. "I'm a freak!" He screamed the last words and when they reached Mystique's ears, she felt a little piece of the wall she had erected around her heart, fall away. _How familiar those words are._

She wanted to keep listening, with the hope that he may share the rest of his story with the patient ear of the old church and, inadvertently, her. She wanted to know if he really was a mutant. But she knew that she couldn't stay in the ceiling forever and she didn't know how long he would be distracted by his screaming. Her window of opportunity for escape could be very small indeed. And escape she should. Especially is this man was a mutant. He's crazy, now angry and if he had powers, she may not be able to sweet-talk her way out of an encounter.

Slowly, she relaxed her grip on the beam with her arms and legs. She flexed for a few seconds, trying to get rid of the stiffness and persuade her blood to banish the cold from her extremities. Then, with the man still bellowing below-now something about his brother and parents, she shimmied across the beam to where it met the wall. There was a conveniently small distance between the wall and a once-smooth column. Mystique dropped to hang from the beam by her hands and began swinging back and forth. While darkening her skin to match the shadows of the stones, she released at the maximum of her forward swing. She exhaled as she hit the wall, pushing off again before gravity had a chance to change her course. She hit the column hard, cursing her breasts for getting in the way, but she easily caught herself on the wind and water eroded former masterpiece.

Acutely aware that the gaps between the man's outbursts were lengthening, she lowered herself down the stone and hesitated only when both her feet were firmly on the ground. She carefully looked around the column to check that the man hadn't moved while she couldn't see him. He had. In fact, he was leaning against the other side of the column that hid Mystique. She froze, willing her heart to stop pounding. This should have been because she was now in a very dangerous position. It should have been because she had to find a way to hide herself until he left or she was confident that she could incapacitate him. She should have frozen in terror and caution.

Instead, she froze because before her, was a particularly beautiful man. Raven-black hair came down to his shoulders and his face looked almost childlike, bright blue eyes boiling with rage. Mystique never allowed herself to call a human attractive, but this man was so different, so alien, that she couldn't stop herself.

When he moved to walk and mutter to himself, she had the good sense to pull back into her hiding place, in the umbra of the column's shadow. When she could no longer see him, the spell was broken and she could think a little clearer. _Stop being stupid and get out of here._ She shivered, sending a ripple of color over her skin and then began to crawl through the shadows to the nearest exit; the crypt entrance under the alter. She kept the stone that should be covering the entrance pulled away just in case of something like this, so when she arrived she was able to slither in without much dramatization. She climbed down the ladder and at the bottom, leaned against the wall and exhaled. She had made it.

Above, the man had begun yelling anew. Mystique knew that she shouldn't dwell there. She should just leave him to his mental breakdown and never think of it again. But, maybe it was the feeling of safety she found down there in the crypt, she didn't want to leave. She wanted to listen to him. And so she sat at the bottom of the ladder, in the entrance to the halls of the dead and she listened. She didn't understand most of what he said. He rambled on about his brother and a place he called Asgard. He was saying some nonsense about trolls and a bridge. Even though she didn't understand most of what he was yelling about, Mystique understood that he was like her.

He was different from his family, everyone that he had grown up with was lying to him. Mystique couldn't help but acknowledge that she could relate. She sat there for probably an hour, finding his voice soothing even as it grew hoarse from the yelling. She closed her eyes as pictured his tall black boots hitting the cold stone every time she heard him take another step. She imagined those eyes flaring up every time he cursed his bother and she couldn't deny that she wished she could see it for herself.

When she opened her eyes she first noticed that the church above was silent. Then she realized that she was freezing and stiff and that she had changed back into her natural form. "Damn!" She hissed as she began working feeling back into her muscles. _I fell asleep!_ Mystique got to her feet and stretched out her legs before making her skin dark once again, turning her eyes catlike to find her way through the maze of tunnels in the catacombs. She set out through the halls of stacked bones and shelves cut into walls that held almost-preserved bodies.

The dead didn't bother her. They were just old human shells and each one in here meant one less out there. One less for her to kill. She almost resented them for robbing her of her fun.

A dozen minutes of following the winding corridors later, Mystique emerged into the open air. "Damn." She repeated when she noticed the very beginnings of the morning light creeping over the horizon. She took off, long strides carrying her to the south and her vehicle. But she blinked and found that her legs had betrayed her. She was standing at the entrance of the old church, hand on the rotting door. _What's happening? What the hell?! _But she couldn't stop herself from gently pushing open the door and slipping in. She found herself back in the sanctuary she had taken such lengths to escape; and there, leaning against the alter, was the man.

He was sound asleep, mouth barely open and dark hair in disarray. He was, adorable.

The growing light washed out all the colors in the room, turning his green clothing dull grey and making his gold armor look like steel. She knelt before him, wanting to see his face up close. So childlike, so innocent, but with the potential for so much. Scarred by betrayal and hurt, even in his sleep. It was like looking in a mirror as a child. Except for the skin color, of course.

_What are you doing here, Myst? Leave already! _But she leaned forward to brush a lock of hair from the man's face. _If he's a human the only reason to stick around is to kill him. If he's mutant, he'll find his way to you if he's worth anything. _But the rational voice in her head was easily ignored as her hand brushed his ear. _Moron, _and she traced his jawline with her fingertips, _what the hell is wrong with you?_

The man stirred and Mystique scurried back, taking refuge behind a pew. Slowly, he sat upright and opened his eyes. Those brilliant, blue eyes. She couldn't help herself.

"Good morning." She stood up, taking on the form of a, fully clothed, pretty blonde.

There was a second of silence, then the man's eyes widened and he leapt to his feet. Well, he tried to. He fell down, seemingly due to a stiff leg, but got up again, a strange combination of confusion and anger on his face. "Who are you?" He demanded. His voice was firm, but it was still soft, like he wasn't used to talking for himself.

Mystique laughed, "who am _I_? Who are you. You're the one in my church. If you wanted to make a confession, I'm afraid you're a century or two late." She kicked a rotted bit of wood for emphasis. It skittered to a halt at his feet.

He ignored the wood and took a closer look at Mystique. "What makes you think I need answer a question asked by a mere mortal? You humans think that you have the right to demand everything you want, it makes me sick." A venom had entered his voice, but Mystique could tell it wasn't entirely directed at her.

The comment made her angry anyway.

"And who are you to call me _human?_" She literally bristled, letting the skin on her back stand up and change colors. "Why should I suffer insults like that from you?" A nice face was no excuse for poor manners. And poor manners got you killed.

The man wasn't able to see Mystique's mutation at work, but her words made him pause. "Excuse my conduct, dearest. Perhaps this did not start as well as it should have. Allow me to begin anew." He bowed, tucking one hand behind his back and offering another forward to Mystique, "I, am called, Loki."

She chuckled and walked forward to claim the offered hand. She bowed and raised the hand to her lips, "A pleasure, I'm sure, Loki. But I still want to know what you are doing here."

His eyes met hers, "no name from you? No title for the fairest-well, second-fairest, apparently non-human in this vicinity?" He stood up straight and slicked back his hair with his fingers, very closely resembling a peacock preening.

Mystique just smirked and shook her head.

Loki smiled, "Well then, if you must know, I came for a place to spend the night. This was the nearest covered site to my position last night, so it made sense to stay here." He cast a glance back at the stone alter. "I'm starting to regret that decision, as it wasn't the most comfortable of resting places."

"I don't know how much rest you actually got in the midst of all that yelling. What in the world is 'Asgard'? And I am ever so curious, what grudge have you with your family?" Mystique widened her eyes, making an honest attempt at innocence. She even twirled a lock of perfectly curled hair around her finger. The motion almost made her sick.

Loki seemed less than amused. "How did you-"

"And now, let's cut to the part where I ask you to show me yours. Then, I show you mine."

"What?"

"You heard me, let's see it. There's no one else here to see. Just you and I and a chance to show off what gifts we've been given." She smiled, waiting.

Loki looked like a confused puppy. "I'm not sure what you're asking for-wait." His face twisted into an unrecognizable emotion, "I think I saw this in that theater, this is the part where we slowly take off each other's clothes and commence the mating ritual humans seem to so much enjoy. But I was under the impression it required first polluting one's blood with alcohol and possibly other substances." The poor man looked honestly proud of himself for figuring it out.

Mystique tried, so hard, to keep a straight face. But it was a lost cause. She was able to remain upright for a few seconds after Loki finished drawing his conclusion, but when she broke she had to kneel and grasp her stomach. She laughed to the point of tears, not because of his incorrect interpretation, but because of how beautifully, sincerely convinced this man was that he was correct.

When she finally cleared her tears and was able to take a deep breath again, Mystique looked up at Loki. She had expected to see more confusion and she was fully prepared to begin laughing anew. What she got, was the sight of a very, very angry man. The very air around him seemed to darken, and the shadows from the morning light made the lines on his face deep and menacing.

"You laugh at me? _I_, who am worshipped by even the humans of long ago? You would mock Loki Laufeyson, the Sly One and Lie-Smith?" He clenched his hands into fists and the air grew thick with his anger. "Am I to be scorned by mortals now? It is not enough that I am a story to frighten children, but they are now free to laugh at me?"

Mystique was impressed by the quantity of anger this man had. It even almost frightened her. "Am I going to have to listen to you whine, now?" She had no patience for this, and no luck with babysitting. "I was talking about your mutation."

Loki's reply was a yell of hurt and anger, and to punch the alter.

Mystique expected Loki to grasp his hand and yell after the sound of stone on flesh subsided, but he merely shook his hand. It was as if he were trying to rid it of excess water, but there was no sign of pain. But, it was blue.

She narrowed her eyes to make sure she was seeing things correctly, but Mystique was not mistaken. Though it was quickly fading, the flesh on Loki's hand had just been a lovely cerulean.

"You're blue?" Her voice was a whisper, but it was more than loud enough to break the silence. Before he could reply she demanded, with a hint of excitement in her, more confident, voice, "do it again!"

"Again?" His eyes flashed, anger threatening to flare up again. "Why would I expose that part of me ever again? What did you call it, a 'mutation'? That does seem to be a rather politically correct term for 'being born a monster and raised by liars who made you love and trust them'."

"Alright," Mystique stepped close to Loki, "I don't know what you're going on about, but I can see this isn't going to work with you going first. So," She cupped his face in her hand, "let's change things up." She brought her lips to his cheek and breathed, "I'll show you mine," and she slowly, dramatically let her skin shift, back to her natural form, "and then you show me, yours." She looked up at him, those few inches, with her blazing, yellow eyes.

To his credit, Loki's only reaction was to catch his breath in his throat. He stood there, frozen for a few, long minutes. Mystique was losing hope that he had been worth her time. She sighed and began lowering her gaze and hand, only to be stopped by Loki. "You are no frost giant."

She rolled her eyes, "lovely pick-up line, that." But she held his shoulder as his hands lightly traced all the patterns and bumps in her skin.

"You are," he loosely gripped her shoulders and stepped back, holding her at arms length, "beautiful."

She allowed him that, but then shrugged off his hands and took another step back."And now, your turn."

"For what," his laugh was bitter, the wonder in his eyes fading. "To show my 'true colors', so to speak? I don't think so." He turned to face a hole in the wall where a stained-glass window once resided, still casting the occasional glance back at Mystique. "I would rather forget, all together, that it's a part of me."

"But you have to embrace who you are!" She didn't move towards him, but she wanted to. "Your mutation, your power is nothing to be ashamed of! I spent most of my life hiding behind other faces because I was too scared of my own. But then I figured out that I can't change it, so I may as well embrace it. And now, if anyone has a problem with me, I just kill them, because I'm perfectly fine with who I am."

"I like that solution a lot more than I probably should. It does seem to be a rather effective one, though." He shook his head, "but I can't imagine you had a history like mine. I was to be king! My brother and I would follow our father and proudly rule Asgard. But it was all a _lie!_." He clenched his fists, "I was never like them!"

She had about had enough of his whining. Mystique walked up to Loki and grabbed his shoulder, turning him to face her. "And I was on my own from the beginning, because no one could bear to look at me. You grew up a prince? I was an urchin. A mutant freak and an urchin. Then I met a kid like me. He gave me a home, but I was always in his shadow, never as good as him and too sick of it to try and beat him anymore. He could hide his mutation, while I had to use my mutation to hide. I loved him as a brother and I hated him for it." She poked his chest, "we seem to have some things in common, but when it comes right down to it, one of us had to have it harder than the other."

His eyes said, 'challenge accepted'. "I too was always in the shadow of my adoptive brother. But at least, as you indicate, you were of the same species. I merely was led to believe that I was an Asgardian, when really I am the son of a frost giant, a monster."

"And the two of us, Charles and I, grew up the only two mutants in a world full of humans! At least you had the luxury of thinking you were the same as everyone else. I lived every hour afraid that someone would find out and then truck me off to some lab or military facility."

Loki snorted, "then we would make quite the pair, wouldn't we?"

Mystique was confused, "what do you mea-" She didn't get a chance to finish that sentence because Loki had bent down and begun experimenting with this thing he had also seen in the theater, called 'kissing'. Mystique didn't really protest.

When they came up for air, she whispered, "by the way," Loki raised an eyebrow, "the name's Mystique, but I'd rather you called me 'Raven'."

Loki smiled, "well then, not-as-fair-as-me, Raven, how do you feel about enslaving the human race?"

She kissed him lightly then replied with a smile, "I think it sounds lovely."


End file.
